Page 4 of The Billionaire's Distraction

Silence.He only studied her with that inscrutable expression, and she felt herself squirm under the weight of it.He didn’t fidget, didn’t shift his weight, didn’t fill the silence, like most men would.His stillness unnerved her.

“I’m Naomi,” she rushed on, extending her hand, her voice thinner than she wanted.

For a long moment, he only stared at it.Then, finally, his large hand engulfed hers.He didn’t shake it.He just held it.Scarred and calloused, his palm was rough against her softer skin.

Her breath hitched as her eyes drifted along his forearm.The scars there pulled at her heart.Old wounds, healed but not forgotten.Before she could stop herself, she brushed her free hand over one of the jagged marks.“This must have hurt,” she murmured.Then another scar caught her attention.“And this one…”

The words tumbled out unbidden, soft, intimate, entirely inappropriate.When she lifted her gaze, his face had shifted.Not anger exactly—but something harsher.Almost horror, like she’d peeled back a layer he never allowed anyone to see.

Reality crashed over her.What was she doing, touching a stranger’s scars?She tried to drop his hand like she’d been burned.“Sorry,” she murmured, flustered, taking a step back.

But his grip tightened for a fraction of a second, halting her retreat.The faint pressure sent a ripple of heat up her arm, and to her shame, it felt good.Very good.She should’ve been afraid of him, and part of her was.But another part—that annoying, stubborn, reckless part of her—wanted more.

Naomi’s lips parted, her tongue darting out nervously to wet them.She let her fingers graze his once more, this time deliberately, as if she could soothe the pain etched into his skin.The impulse shocked her.

And then—he released her.Abruptly, almost violently, as if her touch were poison.

“I’ll check on the mother,” he announced flatly.Without another glance, he turned and vanished into the dense shrubs behind him.

Naomi froze.One moment he was there, towering over her, radiating danger and power.The next, he was gone.She shifted, scanning for a gate or door.Nothing.The house behind the hedge was set far back from the street and there was no way he’d reached it in the moments it had taken her to recover.

Her hand, the one he’d held, still tingled.Curling her fingers into a fist, she pressed it against her chest, confused and unsteady.What was wrong with her?Why on earth was she drawn to a man whose mere presence screamed trouble?He lived in a neighborhood where houses were bigger than anything she’d ever lived in, guarded by gates she couldn’t afford to walk through.His world was not hers.

And yet…

With a frustrated huff, Naomi hitched her tote higher and forced herself to start walking to the bus stop.She needed distance.But with every step, she could still feel the ghost of his rough hand swallowing hers.

Chapter 3

TomPetersonsatatthe polished conference table, his tie loosened just enough to make him look casual, but not sloppy.Around him, his executives droned on, but he’d stopped listening about forty-five minutes ago.They were talking about revenue projections, theft margins, quarterly profit analysis.He nodded occasionally, the practiced motion of a man who didn’t need to listen because he already owned the room.Plus, he paid other people to attend to these tedious details.

So, it wasn’t a surprise that his thoughts were far from profit margins.

They were onher.

Naomi, the little nanny who was, he glanced at his watch and smirked, probably leaving his house right about now.

Darling, careful Naomi with her long ponytail falling forward over her shoulder when she bent to tie his boys’ shoes, her voice calm when she coaxed them out of their tantrums.She was too good for them, he knew that.Hell, too good for him.But that innocence, damn, that’s what got his blood pumping.She wasn’t like the women he paid for, the ones at the strip clubs.

He loved the clubs.And he loved the easy access to the commodities within the clubs!The seedy joints on the South Side reeked of cheap perfume and stale beer, and he thrived on it.But he also loved the upscale ones downtown, which were basically dressed up versions of the same thing—velvet booths, prettier lighting, hookers with better shoes.In the end, it all came down to the same service.They’d take his money and submit to whatever depravity he demanded.And he demanded plenty.

But Naomi?Naomi would never bend.Not willingly.She smiled too softly, touched his sons’ heads too gently when she herded them inside or gave him updates on their progress and activities.That sweetness was a hook in his gut.He knew he couldn’t touch her—excellent nannies were harder to keep than competent accountants.He’d burned through half a dozen of each since the divorce, the revolving door spinning faster every time Melissa tried to stick her nose into things.

Melissa.He nearly laughed out loud at the thought of his dumpy ex-wife.Demolishing her had been the easiest game of his life.Convincing the court she was mentally unstable?Child’s play.He’d had the judge eating out of his hand within minutes.And getting her fired from that pathetic little teaching job?Even easier.One quiet conversation with the school principal about “concerns” and “safety,” and Melissa had been shoved out the door like yesterday’s trash.

After all the lies he’d whispered about her, Melissa would never recover, would never teach in the state again.And he’d enjoyed watching it happen.

But Naomi…was different.Fresh.Unspoiled.She made his sons behave better than anyone else ever had.Which meant he needed her.He couldn’t risk driving her away.Not yet.

Still, the thought of her lips, her startling green-blue eyes lifting to meet his, the way her cheeks pinkened when she was flustered—it tightened something low in his gut.He shouldn’t want her.But the fact that he did, that she was out of reach, only deepened the craving.

At the far end of the table, an executive cleared his throat and launched into a new slide about expansion forecasts.Tom blinked back to the present for a moment, looked around the table, then dismissed the newest information, preferring to anticipate the moment when he could work out his lust, his grin curling slow and secret.

Let these idiots talk about profits and margins.His thoughts were on a different kind of investment.One that involved sweetness, innocence, and how much more satisfying it would be to ruin something so pure.

Chapter 4

MelissaPetersonsatbehindthe wheel of her old minivan, her fingers curled tight around the steering wheel as she stared into the rearview mirror.The glass was streaked, like everything else in her life—smudged, imperfect, and worn thin from too much use.